


Mambo Italiano

by badcostume



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Beach Vacation, M/M, don't you want to go apeshit cardinal copia?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:27:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27778363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badcostume/pseuds/badcostume
Summary: Cardinal Copia is sent to Capri to fetch their hard-partying Papa.
Relationships: Cardinal Copia/Papa Emeritus III
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	Mambo Italiano

It was meant to be a three day trip to Milan, but because it was Terzo it turned into a week, followed by another two on the coast, and eventually it had been a month since they’d seen the third son in the flesh and not in a candy-colored Instagram story, half-obscured by sun glare and surrounded by topless women. 

“Satanas, is that a nipple piercing?” Nihil asked. He poked at the phone to pause the story, frowning when a red heart appeared instead.

“I don’t _like_ this,” he said, indignantly. 

“Papa, hand the phone back to the Cardinal,” Sister Imperator said. 

“What is a WAP, anyway?” Papa asked, but obliged.

Copia minimized the app and spent a moment trying to return it to his pocket before remembering he was wearing a formal coat. He folded his hands over his stomach, attempting a dignified pose, and then dropped the phone.

“Well, that answers our question,” the Sister said. “He’s in Capri. Cardinal?”

“Yes, Sister?”

“Go fetch the Third and remind him he has an abbey, a congregation, and an Unholy Father waiting for him.” 

Copia made a face.

“Me, Sister?”

“Do you see another Cardinal here, Cardinal?”

“No, Sister. But I am wondering if...you know, you should send a Sister of Sin. Or a Brother. A blonde one, maybe. If it’s a woman, definitely one with a nice bosom. I mean, I don’t see how I can entice our Unholy Eminence away from such delights.” 

The Sister rolled her eyes. 

“Tell our unholy terror that if he doesn’t come back, we’re freezing his credit cards. That should put a damper on him.” 

“Of course, Sister.” 

She waved him away and turned back to her paperwork. It took a moment for her to realize that the Cardinal was still there, fiddling with his hastily retrieved phone. 

“What is it now?”

“I am wondering if _I_ am allowed to use the church credit card?” 

“Yes, of course. See the bursar ghoul on your way out.”

He hesitated.

“What?”

“And the Rolls?” 

“Yes, yes, and the gold ram’s head if you are so inclined. Just bring him back before the full moon.”

The Cardinal bowed and headed for the door. Just as he had it opened, Sister called him.

“Oh, and Cardinal?”

“Yes, Sister?”

She leaned over her desk, making direct, snake-like eye contact. 

“If you fail, we’ll be offering more than goat’s blood to our Lord during the harvest festival.”

The Cardinal caught his hand in the door as he tried to bow again.

“Yes-Oww. Ow- Sister. Yes Sister.”

The Sister watched him haul the ornate doors of the head office open and disappear behind their bulk. She sighed and fell back in her chair.

“I don’t care for the way he walks,” Papa Nihil said, meditatively. “He scoots. The boy moves like a hedgehog.” 

“Rodential, I agree,” the Sister said, kicking her feet up on her desk and massaging her arches. "But he's one of us now. He could stand to lighten up. Hopefully this trip will knock something loose." 

"A nipple piercing," Nihil said again, contemplatively. "Do you think that hurts?"

  
  
  


The Cardinal had only been at the abbey for half a year. It was a big place, gothic and imposing on the outside, crackling with life on the inside. He had ostensibly been chosen to assist with the Church’s outreach, but though he had a nice voice and gift for lyrics, he was an awkward showman. Besides, they had Papa for that. Instead he minded the ghouls, led their major demonic summonings, and spent an excruciating amount of time trying to get Papa Nihil out of the pantry, which had a faulty lock. Overwhelmingly boring stuff, or so The Third would say.

It took a great deal of boring, chalk-and-blood activities to keep the Church’s affluence and power intact. These were the rituals that the Cardinal had rarely, if ever seen the Third at; when he did arrive, Copia quickly found himself shunted to the side, a resigned second fiddle. Rituals involving the Third tended to skew towards sex magic, no matter the original designation. Copia did not mind this in theory, but it was hard to maintain an erection with the huffing of Papa Nihil’s oxygen tank in the background. 

“Do not worry, Cardinal,” the Third had said on one such occasion, winking, “We all have our little troubles!” 

It had been the only time the Third had acknowledged him the entire evening. Naked, covered in blood, and freezing, the Cardinal had considered mentioning how fucking weird it was that the Third could rail their symbolic virgin so athletically with his dad in attendance, but then thought better of it. 

“Thank you for your salacious intent this evening,” he gritted out, and then of course it was him who was left to hose down the altar with the water ghouls, who cackled to each other in their guttural pit language about his dick. 

In a fit of rage at the unfairness of it all, Copia had vanquished one back to the pit. Much later that night, he had woken in a cold sweat and re-summoned said ghoul after realizing they were on the Third’s personal staff. A ridiculous, rookie error. 

Crouched over a summoning pentagram in his pajamas, Copia had seriously reconsidered his transfer. Life in the satanic clergy was supposed to be fulfilling, luxurious, erotic. Prayers were answered and devotion was rewarded. He smudged the summoning ink, a particularly foul mix of dog semen and ash from a burnt crucifix, into the cold stone floor. He had endured mandatory demonic possession, a serious of grueling marathon sex sessions with an incubus, and Catholic primary school. Surely this was satisfactory enough for their unholiness. 

“You do have a funny sense of humor,” he muttered hellward, and sliced open his palm. “I will wait and reap my reward.”

“Reap _this_ ,” the freshly appeared ghoul said, and drenched him in cold water for his troubles. 

  
  


The Cardinal arrived on the island the next afternoon. It was not hard to find the Third: he had access to the man’s spending history and over the past three hours he’d spent an eye-watering amount of money at the Bagni Tiberio. The Cardinal planned to let him exhaust himself and then spring on him the next morning, when Terzo was hungover and, hopefully, docile. This also allowed him time to enjoy a meal and some non-abbey company. He didn’t doubt that Sister Imperator would do something unpleasant to him if he fumbled the retrieval, but there was at least a week before the next full moon, and if the head of the church could take a month off for Papal Senior Week, he could at least have a decent dinner on the church’s dime. 

He had checked in to the second-best suite--two guesses as to whom the first had been given--and made his way down to the beach chairs belonging to the hotel. He toed off his shoes and bundled the cassock into a wicker basket. A waiter appeared with a cocktail, which he accepted readily. Really, why did the abbey have to be in a deep dark wood? The flesh on display and the lascivious antics of the beachgoers would certainly appease His Unholiness, and Papa Nihil’s chest condition might actually improve in the crisp air. Copia frowned and shoved thoughts of Nihil out of his head. It was hot and clear; the sunlight cut across the bright blue water and warmed his face. Bliss.

For the first time in a while, Copia drifted off into an indulgence he couldn’t quite manage in the drafty, stressful air of the abbey: a nap. 

When he woke, the sun was lower and the crowd in the water had thinned. He stretched and winced at the pull of skin on his face--he had always been a burner. He would charm it away later. One of the perks of being of the satanic cloth was an endless reserve of power for magic of vanity. He waved over the waiter perched under the awning of the hotel porch. Another drink was in order. There was still plenty of time before he had to get to the task at hand, and time again before dinner. 

He was idly considering either a full-body massage, or a blowjob from the handsy concierge--that wink had said volumes--when the shadow of the waiter fell over his chaise. 

“Another, please,” he said. "Heavy on the rum."

“How dare you speak to your Papa like this,” a mocking voice replied. 

“Christ above,” the Cardinal said, eyes snapping open, and at that the Third let out a belly laugh. 

“I knew you were Catholic before us,” he said, and leaned down to pinch Copia’s leg.

The Third was clad in a tiny purple swimsuit and nothing else. For someone who had been in the sun and surf all day, his face paint was impeccable. 

“You do have a nipple piercing,” Copia said dumbly. 

“Guilty,” the Third said, flicking it. He dropped down on the chaise, smushing Copia’s leg under his damp behind. “Another round!” he called to the waiter, who sprinted to them with glasses in hand. 

“These are your vacation clothes?” the Third asked, tugging on Copia’s formal shirt. It had been unbuttoned enough so that there was now a pink v of singed skin down to his sternum. He was sure he looked like a chaperone at a school dance next to the Third. 

“It was spur of the moment.” The Third had a tiny tattoo of an inverted cross over his hip, barely visible under the hair trailing from his navel. The Cardinal averted his eyes and accepted his drink. 

“Well, you know why we have the uniforms,” the Third said, clinking his glass against Copia’s and taking a swallow. “Because it feels so good to get out of them. There are levels of pleasure and attire can allow you to achieve all of them.” 

The Third wedged his drink between his thighs and counted on his fingers:

“First, the sense of aesthetic satisfaction in the fabric and color: I am a beautiful thing. Second, the feeling of acceptance and power of the uniform and the privileges it provides: They will bow to this beautiful thing. Third, or fourth and last if you are the type, the resistance to freedom that can be a sensual endeavor. A hard-on in the pants we have? Torture. Fourth, finally, the release of removal and the joys of the naked flesh: underneath, I am still that beautiful thing.”

The Cardinal was waiting for the command to strip to prove his acceptance and love of his body, but the Third merely took another long sip of his drink and patted his thigh.

“So. You’re here to bring me back to the abbey?” 

There went his evening.

“Yes, your excellency. I’m afraid that--”

“Shh, shh,” the Third said. He leaned over and put a gentle hand over Copia’s mouth. He held Copia’s gaze with his own unbalanced eyes. 

“I’ve seen you around the abbey. You are not comfortable, yet. With me, or the congregation. It’s fine,” he said, as Copia began a muffled denial, “Ministry that close to our lord is different. We are an acquired taste--we are a family, after all, and you are newly adopted. Don’t think about that right now. What interests me is this: what do you want to do at this moment?”

He removed his hand, but stayed so close that Copia instinctively wanted to turn away. He tried in vain to think of a single response that wasn’t insane, or worse, deeply pathetic. 

“I suppose--I want--I want to--,” this was shaping up to be more of a disaster than the sex ritual. A bath? His mind supplied. Idiot, you’re at the ocean, why would you want a bath, he thought furiously. 

“I don’t want to go back to the abbey,” he said, playing for time. 

“That makes two of us. Go on.”

“I want to relax. I want to feel like I am on a real vacation, not an errand. I want to get laid. I want fresh shrimp,” he said, with growing enthusiasm. 

“That’s more like it!” the Third said. He patted Copia's face. "Now, I can help you with all these things. How about you stay with me for the rest of the week?"

"Is that a command?"

"No!" The third drained his glass and screwed it into the sand. "Satanas, no. There's nothing worse than mandatory vivaciousness. No, no. You can keep your room and do whatever, either with me or without me. I do whatever I want, you know, and that is all I can hope for anyone in the clergy. People on vacation are so beautiful. It is the closest we get to our hedonistic selves without the practice of the church, yes?" 

"I was thinking something similar," the Cardinal said. His younger counterpart was now warmly watching a woman lift her girlfriend by the waist and twirl her, shrieking, into the warm water. 

"My brother had many children," the Third said, out of nowhere. "I think about them quite often. They are maybe ten, fifteen years old, at most. I used to joke that my brother hated two things: insolence and condoms." 

"Uh-"

"Bloodline is very important to my father," the Third continued. "To me, not so much. I think choosing our way of life is the most important. It is a big decision. And also the easiest I've ever made." 

He laughed and then, catching sight of the Cardinal's frozen, polite face, laughed harder. 

"Your parish was very different from ours, wasn't it?" He reached over and shook the Cardinal's shoulder, as if trying to knock a smile out of him. "Come on now, you are on vacation. A beautiful thing among beautiful things on the seaside."   
  
"To be honest, my parish was small. We mostly did ritual summoning. And exorcisms." A lot of exorcisms. 

The Third raised his eyebrow. "That's quite old-fashioned."

"It was how I joined," the Cardinal said. "There's significant overlap in Catholic and Satanic demonology." 

"Hmm," the Third said. Then, "Do you have dinner plans? A place in mind for these fresh shrimp?"

"No," the Cardinal said. 

"Come with me, then," the Third said. He stood up and pushed his hair back from his face. "I know somewhere. At eight?"

One thing that Satan enjoyed putting to his followers was tests of consequence. For example: a young summoner rarely ever called up Lucifer himself. Instead, a lesser, but still powerful demon would be sent. Or perhaps a flock of them. They had their own agendas, their own desires, and often had no intention of helping you out with whatever menial issue you needed help solving. What was most interesting to their dark lord was what happened _after_ the summoning; how you dealt with the fallout of your decision. Only the strong would be able to take each event, wrangle each demon, and push their will to the forefront. Their man wasn't subtle, either. Moments of decision became recognizable to the unfaithful, like signs of a coming rain. 

"Sure," Copia said. "Why not."

The Third beamed. 

"Fantastic!" he said, and kissed the Cardinal on the cheek. "I will see you then."

Copia watched him stride across the sand towards a group of nuns who were cooling their ankles in the low tide. From a distance, he heard the Third's cheerful greeting and the warm response of the oldest nun, who had a tabloid rolled under one arm and a pair of sunglasses perched on her head. The conversation seemed friendly, and a few of the younger nuns laughed after he spoke. 

"Show-off," Copia muttered to himself. The Third twisted around to look back at him. 

"Shit," Copia said, and covered his face with his drink. Maybe he would take the concierge up on it before dinner. 

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z1UXbhZ3ysc
> 
> Assume everyone is speaking Italian unless otherwise indicated
> 
> emerituschurch on tumblr


End file.
